The boy surveyed the night. Another job completed, another task done. But when he went to collect his payment from Tom, he received a fist instead. It should have hurt; perhaps it did but pain was something he had long since learned to ignore.
Tom wasn't done. His anger turned to the girl, dragging her forward, beating her without reason. She reached for the boy, her small hands grasping at his sleeve, seeking help once more. He looked at her coldly but even then he helped her for a slim chance.
A slim hope.
That perhaps things would change, that perhaps just maybe he would be shown love, but no such thing happened. once again he woke alone, beneath a sky of stars. he wasn't sure how to feel in that moment; he simply stood bloodied and bruised and walked for what felt like ages before his feet stepped in the lush grass below.
The boy, around ten, stood at the edge of a cliff, staring out at the sea, lost in thought as always. Below, the waves crashed steadily, rhythmically, but his mind drifted elsewhere. In this moment, he felt nothing.
He loved the concept of love; he wanted to experience it.
Time was still as he watched the waters as moonlight reflected on the river below.
If he fell now, would anyone miss him?
He had planned to be completely alone, as always but someone approached.
A tall, funny man.
He moved with an unsteady walk, his steps uneven, yet the boy could tell at a glance he wasn't drunk. His movements were deliberate, calculated. A performance.
What a strange man.
Draped in a long black cloak, a top hat perched on his head, and a mask stretched into an eerie, exaggerated grin, he looked like a performer. The mask's hollow eyes gleamed with amusement, as if the world were some grand joke only he understood. Beneath the cloak, he wore a red tuxedo, so elegant, so deliberate. He spoke lightly, playfully, his voice carrying an air of amusement, though of what, the boy couldn't say.
But the boy could tell.
The Fool was a liar. He was not foolish, though played the part well.
He was strange, yes, but not stupid.
That didn't make him untrustworthy. If anything, it made him more honest than most.
The Fool was an enigma, brilliant, insane. The boy wasn't sure.
But for now, he listened then spoke.
"Why are you here?" the boy asked, peering up at him.
The Fool only laughed. He nodded once, then produced a deck of cards, shuffling them with fluid ease between gloved fingers.
"Pick one. Any one," the fool said lightly.
The boy hesitated, eyes narrowing, then reached forward and pulled a card. He turned it over.
Death.
He stared at it, curious.
The Fool chuckled. "Ah, I thought you'd pull the Hermit. How interesting."
The boy glanced up. "What does it mean?"
The Fool shrugged. "It means misfortune is coming your way. But," he tilted his head, "you can avoid that."
"How?"
The Fool hummed in amusement, then took the card from the boy's hand, shuffled it back into the deck, and held it out once more.
"Pick again."
The boy took one and looked and saw death.
The fool shuffled the deck again and the boy pulled at random once more. Then another. And another. Each time, no matter how randomly drawn, bore the same symbol: Death.
The boy narrowed his eyes.
With a flick of his wrist, the fool tossed a card toward him. The boy caught it effortlessly between his fingers. Death.
It was Death. Again.
"Congratulations on escaping death."
The boy caught the card between his fingers. "Did I?"
The Fool tapped his chin. "Perhaps. Perhaps not."
A pause. Then, with a slow tilt of his head, he asked, "What is your name?"
Silence stretched between them.
"I have no name," the boy finally said. "I am Nobody."
The Fool's grin widened. "Exactly." He spread his arms as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. "Then you are Nobody," the fool said, "and no one sees Nobody coming."
The boy blinked. "W…What?"
The Fool laughed, stepping forward. "Confusing, isn't it?"
Then, softer, "What do you want in life?"
The boy hesitated, unsure. "I… I don't know."
The Fool chuckled. "Nothing, then."
Neither spoke. The Fool simply waited, as if expecting more.
Finally, the boy muttered, "If there was one thing… maybe love."
The Fool's laughter was light, knowing. "Very well. But do be careful."
"Why?" the boy asked.
The Fool tapped the card in the boy's hand.
"Death is seeking you. Why? Who knows?"
The boy barely reacted; hadn't he escaped it? "That's fine. I've survived it plenty."
The Fool hummed. "That you have. But can you survive it again? And again? Over and over?"
The boy nodded, unworried.
"And if you found love, and Death came for it what then?"
The boy was quiet.
"I don't know... I guess I would simply kill it," he said with ease.
It was a childish response, an absurd statement to kill Death.
The Fool laughed, but then his amusement faded, his masked face tilting as he studied the boy.
"Would you stake your life on that?"
The boy nodded with cold eyes. The boy knew not love nor anything so given the opportunity, he would give anything.
The Fool's laughter returned, but this time, it carried something different: an edge. He cleared his throat.
"Ah, what a fool you are! You can't kill Death," he said, then stopped abruptly as silence took over and he stared down at the boy with a tilt in his head.
"But… you can become it."
The boy frowned. "What?"
The Fool slipped another card from his deck, turning it over.
The boy raised an eyebrow. "A card?"
The Fool shook his head, laughing. "No, a name." He twirled the card between his fingers, his grin evident even beneath his mask. "I don't have one either. It was the first card I pulled. So, I became the Fool."
He flicked the card toward the boy, who caught it effortlessly.
The Fool laughed.
"So, then… I suppose that would make you"
A pause.
"No," he chuckled, shaking his head. "Not yet."